Darkness. Pure and unending. Primordial things with no shape and no name prowled the expanse, tearing, ripping, and eating at the landscape and at each other. No purpose. They owed their existence to it, the Father, the thing above almost all others, spitting out abomination after abomination. It had done this since its beginning, and would do it until its end. Identical creatures, all of them. Except for one.

A lonely figure stood atop the only hill, unmoving. He looked just likes his siblings, yet he had a single difference from all the rest, something which only he possessed, something which not even The Father had.

He could think. He could feel. He knew. He was. And most of all, he had a name. A crude thing crafted out of curiosity and the test of tongue. Proskellion. And with that, he was above all things, even The Father, for even The Father's name was his creation. That gave Proskellion a power which none else had.

That same blessing was a curse.

In all of Proskellion's existence, nothing had ever changed. The masses below simply fought and ate without any purpose. They had done this since he had been created. And there would be no change. Never would there be something just like him, something else to talk to, to share experiences with. For all time, there would be nothing to set anything apart. So Proskellion sat atop the only hill. And simply waited.

And waited.

And waited…

For the first time in ages, he was actually curious. And he would not let it go to waste. With a conviction he hadn't had since he had first named himself, he walked steadily towards the source.

A ripple in the still, dead lake. Proskellion felt it. A new sound from the distance, somewhere near where the horizon fell down to the endless world below. A faint, high pitched ringing, steadily getting higher, steadily getting closer. As suddenly as it began, the ringing came to a sudden stop. For a moment, there was absolute silence.

Then a wave of searing heat and cracking earth overtook everything. Only the Father and Proskellion were spared from the death it carried.

A breath. A single, timeless moment, atop that single hill, where he was for the first time truly alone. The wailing cries in the distance brought that moment to an end.

And for the first time in ages, he got up and began walking. Whatever had cracked the earth had changed something within him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, permeating the air. It sparked something which he had thought long dead: curiosity. However, unlike before, this time it was accompanied with a strange companion: Desire. He wanted it, needed it, would not be whole without knowing what had fell upon the earth and cracked it so. So he got up from where he had sat for so many eternities, and began his walk towards the horizon.

A buzzing had started. It wasn't a sound, it was a feeling. It resonated within him, making his legs work faster, his mind race. He practically shook as finally he approached the source. He fell down to the ground, frantically feeling for it. He finally found it and froze. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It was smooth, soft and warm. He shivered and began feeling the rest of ■. He caressed the flesh, smelled the scent of absolution.

And then no longer could he suppress his desire. The final thing left to him, he began. He started to eat. He tasted absolute bliss, absolute perfection. It wasn't long before he realized he had gained something else from his meal. Sight.

For the first time he could see. And he reveled in his newfound power, amazed at what this was. For the first time, he could see his siblings. Though they were corpses, he thought they were beautiful, endless curves and shapeless teeth. Black masses lit only by a soft crimson which filtered from above. So he looked above. And he saw the creator, The Father. Spitting out an endless stream of his siblings, he sat above, a thin and ragged crack among the sky. A red, fleshy ball, uneven lumps of it hanging in every corner. And he laughed and laughed and laughed, thrilled at this newfound skill.

Then he looked down at what he had eaten. A beautiful thing, perfect in every way. Everything about ╟ put to shame everything else he had seen. ■ was stunning, the sum of all things that were good and beautiful. ■ was perfection. ■ was the antithesis of everything he had known and anything he would ever know. The things which crawled the infinite darkness, The Father's face rearing for all things to see, and him, Proskellion, the only being that could appreciate ■'s beauty. And then in horror, he looked at what he had done to ■; ■'s torso ripped apart, insides displayed for all to see, perfection leaking out onto the ground below, and staining it scarlet.

He stared, feeling nothing for a long while. Then he heard the moaning in the distance and slowly he came to a decision. He refused to let her body be defiled by the things which he was forced to call his siblings, and finished his terrible deed, absorbing her being into his unknowingly. With each bite, he saw visions.They assaulted his thoughts. Endless spires of silver and gold, things as beautiful as ■ crossing roads, eating, talking, laughing. The skies shone blue with a sun in the center. It was absolutely,completely,Perfect.

And then he screamed, for he felt rage. Rage at the unfairness, at the darkness, at his siblings, at The Father, and most of all, at himself. ■ could have remade everything into this, but he had taken away that reality, had steered the unholy plane away from perfection. And then the pain began. It started in his head, but quickly spread to every point of his body. A pressure, something trying to get out. Thoughts ran through his mind. Ideas, of color, feelings, hot, cold, Death, life, Light, Dark, the Mind, the Fire, Blood, and the Nameless.
He thought of all reality.

And then he started to split into another, as ■ came out. But he fought. With every ounce of his being, he forced her to stay, for he knew ■ was flawed. A mangled body, Proskellion fell to the ground, his body a twisted version of what it once was, crimson threads of blood leaking around him, pooling around his body, as ■ separated from the prison within his body.

And with those efforts, a god broke.

And Proskellion could only watch as what had once been beauty tore apart reality, whisking away his siblings. The Father did not resist, for he was not even alive, and it too fell before her wrath.

But even death would not stop the mindless seeding.

Proskellion could do nothing but watch within his broken body as ■ created something even worse in its stead. And then, he died.

He awoke. His eyes could only stare at what was above him. He could only feel disgust.
He saw infinity. Countless shining stars, containing countless experiences, abominations and wonders. He saw them all, their bodies and their actions. He saw what Gods they would become. He saw everything. The paradigm of perfection.
An abomination.
Something which should have never been, more wretched than The Father and his offspring, more revolting than himself. An imitation of perfection, it was an abhorrent creation, and all he could do was stare, aware of its every flaw. At how each little piece was competently, utterly wrong. A broken thing, a shattered and diseased form of what had been her vision. He rose off of the ground.

It was his mistake that made this. It would be him that would unmake it.

The Father was dead.
He was the last one left.
One of his torn limbs rose, and with his will, what remained of the landscape was torn to ash and dust and blood.
And from the ruins, he formed it into a single hill.
But no change could rid that color of blood.
And in that land of Scarlet, the King took his place upon his throne.